


Vicious

by Haumeia (Empatheia)



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Haumeia
Summary: A mostly unsuccessful attempt to sort out some priorities.





	Vicious

**Author's Note:**

> Very casual 750words entry from early this year (I think). Does not take into account any details past the end of 2016, do not canon-pick.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: do not emulate.

Shura caught up to him in the hallway and caught his forearm. Her fingers were back to their old strength, he noticed. That was good.

 

"Come with me," she hissed, and dragged him through the maze of halls to her personal quarters. Once she had him inside, she slammed the door shut and pointedly locked it, then rounded on him.

 

Yukio wearily braced himself and exhaled.

 

She opened her mouth to let the tirade out, left it hanging for a moment, then abruptly closed it and ground her teeth. Instead, she backed him into the door and buried her face in his chest, clenching her arms around his torso as if to pull all the atoms of his being inwards to mesh with hers. "You  _ idiot, _ " she mumbled into his chest.

 

Despite himself, he snorted. And here he'd meant to stay aloof. Untouchable. Immovable. "You're one to talk," he pointed out. "As I recall, you went haring off to Aomori to die without telling a soul. Pot, kettle."

 

"I was  _ supposed _ to die," she snarled, pulling back to glare up at him. "I knew it was coming and I was ready for it. You-- You're still just a kid. Just barely getting started. What would you have done if it hadn't worked? What if you'd just  _ died _ , right then and there? Did you think about the consequences your death might have set into motion--"

 

"Shura," he interrupted, gently. There was the tirade he'd been waiting for. "There are risks that need to be taken, sometimes. You know that as well as I do."

 

If it was possible, her glare grew even fiercer. "I know. And I know that you know that you  _ didn't _ need to take these ones. You didn't-- You could've-- God  _ damn _ it, Yukio."

 

Despite all his conviction, his heart ached. She cared so much. She persisted in caring so much, no matter how hard he shut her out. What would she do if his path led to the Illuminati after all, even temporarily? What would she do to keep him in the light?

 

Instead of verbally defending himself further, he opted to gently fold his arms around her and pull her back in. He stroked her hair with one hand, her spine with the thumb of the other, and was gratified to feel her shiver after freezing for a moment.

 

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Please don't think that I'm ungrateful for your support. It's just something I have to do alone for it to be meaningful. I can't move forward until I get past it. It's selfish and stupid; I know, and I'm sorry. You're right. You're right, but I have to do it anyway."

 

"You goddamn moron," she muttered into his chest. "Rin's stupidity is obvious, but yours is actually somehow worse. You hide it behind book smarts and composure but you're every bit as reckless and selfish and idiotic as he is. You drive me crazy. If you die, I swear on the holy relics--"

 

He pushed her away and shrugged, strengthening his defenses as much as he could. "If I die, it won't be your fault. Just... leave it alone. It has nothing to do with you anyway."

 

Without warning, she punched him full in the face. Nothing broke, so she'd been holding back, but his head went momentarily white before descending in a slow, dizzy spiral back towards reality. 

 

"This is what I hate worst about you," she snarled. "You act like people's feelings about you don't matter at all. Nothing to do with me? What about Rin, and Shiemi? Do you think they'd just shrug and say 'oh well' if you died trying to do something they could've helped you with?"

 

Yukio opened his mouth, but his brain was too scrambled to organize a shipment of words at the moment, so nothing came out.

 

"If you want to get stronger, fine. If you want to learn more about your heritage and your eyes and whatever else, fine. Those are good goals. Just let me help you. Let  _ us _ help you. Please."

 

The old pain suddenly jabbed with a poker, his anger boiled over. "And what if  _ you _ get hurt for my ambition, then? What if I let you in and you end up dragging me around like you always have, and then you die? I accomplish nothing on my own to be proud of, and you pay the price for whatever I gain. Why is that better than me taking all the risks and all the gains on myself? Why are you so determined to stay with me?"

 

Shura's eyes were suddenly wide, startled and dark in the gloom of her quarters. "I-- Well, uh."

 

Sensing weakness, finally, he pressed onwards. "Do you even have a reason, or are just letting your gut guide you?"

 

She frowned. "I'll have you know that my gut is an excellent guide," she said, "and yeah, I do have a reason. I damn well care about you, you idiot. I want to help you because that's how caring about people works. What's your big problem with that, anyway?"

 

Yukio clenched his fists at his sides and gritted his teeth. He'd meant to end the conversation faster than this, keep it out of these treacherous waters. If she realized... If his pride alone wasn't excuse enough....

 

"Look, I just want to do this alone," he said wearily. "Can't you just leave it at that? Please?"

 

Shura shook her beautiful head.

 

The shorter hair really did suit her; she looked a little older, but also more vibrant, more herself. She'd bought her life with that sacrifice, and she was lighter in herself as a result. He resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it again. It was cool and glossy as silk against the warmth of her skin and that had been a pleasant contrast.

 

"You'll have to tie me up and lock me in a closet."

 

He bit his lip until it almost bled, summmoned up his fury and frustration and let it loose. "Just  _ leave me alone! _ " he bellowed, wishing he could summon up something spectacular to lend weight to the volume of his words. "Stop sticking your nose into my business! Don't you have enough on your plate as it is? Deal with your stuff and let me deal with mine. You're not my mother."

 

Her face grew darker with every word, until it became nearly a thunderhead at the last thing. "No," she said, "you're right. I'm really not. I'm just your friend. Your friend who's trying to keep your stupid, selfish ass alive, even though I  _ do _ have a crapton of stuff on my plate already, thanks. But whatever. If you're so insistent on getting yourself killed all by your lonesome, go on. Have fun. Don't expect me to come running if you get in over your stupid,  _ stupid _ head."

 

Internally, he sighed with relief, but the ache in his chest grew worse. She looked angry, and she was, but it was a thin veneer of acid over a deep lake of hurt. He had wanted to avoid pushing her away as hard as this; she deserved better from him, after everything she'd done for him. This was the only way, though. The only way he could think of to make her stay here, where she would be that much closer to safe.

 

"Ten-four," he said coldly, and turned to leave.

 

He had the door four inches open when Shura spun him around and pinned him to it. It slammed shut, and he bumped his already sore head against it before he could catch himself.

 

Confused, he looked down at her, only to find her face much closer than expected, bare inches away. Her hands slid over his shoulders and curved around the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

 

He kissed her. He couldn't not. 

 

All his massive, conflicted feelings for her turned over heavily in his gut, as unresolved as ever and stirred up now. Resentment, respect, disdain, affection, and worst of all--

 

She made a desperate sound into his mouth and pressed herself full-length against his body, and he shuddered and curved forwards to fit her, bent her backwards until she nearly hung in his arms, reliant on him to keep her upright. He kissed her with the pent-up hunger of two years of denial, answering her every ravenous advance with his own.

 

It was not graceful, or clean, or anything like Rin's ridiculous manga. It was vicious and combative and cruel and he felt like he might go to pieces.

 

_ There's often a seed of truth, _ Shima said in his memory, black eyes and white snow, a mocking smile.

 

He turned them around and pressed Shura against the door. She abruptly hung all her weight around his neck for a moment, pulling her knees up to grasp his hips so that they were on the same level, her face slightly higher than his now. She slid her fingers into his hair, caressing his scalp, and sucked his tongue into her mouth.

 

He jerked, pressing his hips hard against her, and she whimpered.

 

"Yukio," she gasped, breathy and unsteady, "should I stop you? I should, shouldn't I? I shouldn't-- This--"

 

He leaned his weight into her and pressed a damp kiss to the side of her throat. She shivered again.

 

"You could if you wanted," he said, "but I don't see why." He trailed down to her collarbone and laved it with his tongue.

 

"It's just," she panted, "you're still only-- I mean, I'm the adult, I should--"

 

Yukio snorted. "I've been risking my life on the battlefield for a decade," he pointed out. "What am I risking here that could even compare to that? What could you -- or  _ would _ you -- do to hurt me at this point?" 

 

He slid his hands up the backs of her thighs and rocked his hips against hers, very gently.

 

" _ Ngh, _ " she said eloquently, clutching at his shoulders. "I can't even tell if that's a good argument or not. Guess I'll have to sort out my regrets later. Won't be the first time. Yukio, take me to bed."

 

That required no answer, so he gripped her hips to steady her weight and swung them both away from the door. She clung to him as he headed for the bed, sucking a vicious mark onto his left collarbone. It stung, but he was old friends with all kinds of pain and this was one of the better sorts he'd met.

 

When his knees hit the mattress, they went over together in a heap, Yukio landing atop her with a muffled  _ thump.  _ She writhed under him, rolling her body and clenching her knees against the sides of his hips.

 

"Hurry," she urged.

 

He would prefer not to, but he didn't have the luxury of taking his time. Not this time. He was wound too tightly, and so was she. It would have to be urgent and graceless for now. With luck, he'd be able to make up for that later.

 

She helped him out of his clothes as he helped her out of hers, impatiently tugging and sometimes tearing things away when they didn't give fast enough. He'd look a sorry sight on his way back to his own quarters, but he could blame it on a demon ambush if anyone gave him trouble. It wouldn't be far off from the truth.

 

"Here," she said hoarsely, "here, right here--"

 

He felt her warm hand around him, guiding him straight and true. With a muffled moan, he sank into her, pressing his face hard against her shoulder. 

 

" _ Yukio, _ " she gasped.

 

The sound of his name had never held much particular meaning for him; it was just a signifier, something to help direct communications when multiple possible targets were present. He changed his mind on that abruptly. His name was a benediction in her mouth, a profane and hungry prayer he couldn't help but want to answer.

 

"Shura," he said into her damp skin, and it came out almost reverent. That was all right. That was good. That was close enough to what he wanted her to know.

 

When he began to move in earnest, pulsing against her like an unsteady heartbeat, she writhed and convulsed and beat counterpoint to his rhythm and did everything she could to wring the most out of him. Her fingers dug desperately into his back, not drawing blood but feeling it running under his skin, running through the bunched muscles around his spine, confirming the wild rush of his life. He was alive. Still alive, despite everything he'd done, everything he'd risked. 

 

"Please, please, please," she said on a series of sharp inhales; an incantation, a summoning.

 

One of her hands wormed between them to rub frantically at herself, her climax approaching in the tensing of her muscles, the flexion of her spine.

 

He pressed her down and kissed her, incongruously soft and slow. 

 

Her free hand slid up his neck to cup his face, thumb whispering over his cheekbone, fingertips resting gently in his hair. 

 

The moment she tipped over, he felt it. Her whole body went rigid, then shook like an earthquake, convulsing under and around him. A harshly suppressed keening wail clawed its way out from behind her teeth and into his mouth.

 

Shuddering, he dove over the edge after her, down into the fathomless darkness of heat and exhaustion.

 

He struggled to maintain consciousness against the sudden heavy tide of somnolence that swamped him. She pressed delicate kisses to the side of his face, his throat, his eyelids, his forehead, then hugged him tightly against her.

 

"I suppose I should thank Hachirou," she said drily into his ear. "Not sure I would ever have opened this particular door if not for him being awful about it."

 

It was the same for Yukio, but he didn't have the wherewithal to tell her so. It was like he was drowning, but without the fear or pain; just the calm, swallowing depths of sleep.

 

She stroked his hair, his back, his arms. "It's all right," she said. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere. No matter how much of an ass you make of yourself. You hear me?"

 

"Mmm," he said, and closed his eyes, unable to resist when there was no danger to fight.

 

His plan lay in smithereens, but he couldn't find it within himself to care, at least not at the moment. There would be other plans. Other goals, maybe. He would think things through properly when he woke up. He was still determined enough.

 

He had to be.

  
  


**X**


End file.
